Dream Time
by xt1me
Summary: An answer to a prompt that asked for Arthur and Eames to be refugees from the Dreaming.  This not only contains spoilers but also will make *no sense* if you haven't read Sandman.


The bar was filled with smoke and the quiet murmur of drinkers. The singer on stage was crooning out a song that seemed to have no word as a dreamer played poker with a man who had been shot in the head and another who was dripping water on his cards. A buxom blond sauntered past and up to a man at the bar in a pinstripe suit.

"Hello Arthur."

"Eames." Arthur looked up. "Your eyes are too close together."

Eames snorted but fixed the eyes. It was one of the reasons they were friends after all. Maybe it was because he was a background character but Arthur always had a good eye for detail. And Eames always liked to be the best.

Arthur had been the one to think of the name Eames. They had been in a dream together were Eames had been a chair. The dreamer had sat down and the chair had slowly started to change. The look on the guys face as he woke up had been hilarious. They had both started laughing and afterwards Arthur had said the chair was called an Eames chair. Eames had liked the name so decided to keep it.

Arthur had had different names as well of course but right now he was Arthur. He was one of the faceless masses (not the literally faceless, they were something else). He was one of those background characters in suits or uniforms. Could be the government or the mob or an office drone. Others like him were called Smith or Jones or Brown. He looked young because there was an underlying fear most dreamers had of someone younger, smarter, leaner, _hungrier_ passing them out. He looked as good in a suit as he did in armour or loincloth but unlike Eames he didn't change shape.

In fact he was probably Eames' opposite in every way. Eames liked attention. The look on a dreamers face when they realised what was happening. Be it fear or wonder, fascination or horror. Arthur liked being noticed and forgotten, glimpsed at in the corner of the eye or hinted at and then gone. The only thing they really had in common being the best at what they did. And, of course, being somewhat of a perfectionist.

There was a roar of laughter at the poker table as the man covered in water coughed up a fish. Eames sat down next to Arthur.

"The Corinthian's gone."

"I heard."

"He's not the only one."

"What are you planning?"

"Me," the woman smiled dismissively, "You know I'm not one for planning. I leave that to you."

"Yes, and I'm not one for ideas but I know when you've hatched one."

Eames leaned a little closer, lowering her voice. "He's missing. I know no one wants to talk about it but we all know it's true. The higher ups may be trying to keep things running, but without Him things are falling apart."

"It's not that bad."

"Yet."

"So what do you propose?"

"We go look for Him."

"Others are already doing that."

"Yes, but we're both good at not being noticed when we want. If He really doesn't want to be found, or…if it's something else, we could be the best ones to find Him. It's not like we'd be missed here." That bit kind of hurt to admit but while Eames was the best, there were plenty of other shifting dreams out here. And Arthur by his very nature tended not to be noticed.

"I've even picked out a form, look."

Arthur looked Eames' new body up and down. "So you've decided to be male."

"Well, I think Eames sounds like a male name, don't you?"

"Eames is a surname, it could be either." Eames gave a dismissive wave that looked decidedly feminine. Arthur decided not to mention it.

"Why are your teeth crooked?"

"I think I like them like that."

Arthur sighed. "You know if we do this it will be dangerous. We'll have mortal bodies, we could be killed or worse. Even if we find Him there's no guarantee. Anything could happen."

"Yes, I know. Isn't it great." Eames beamed.

A smile slowly slid across Arthur's face. "Very well, Mr. Eames."

* * *

><p>LATER<p>

_Text messages:_

#Where are you now?#

#I'm in London. I've decided I'm British. Why?#

#I think I've found something. I'll send you the details later but your going to have to join the army.#

* * *

><p>LATER<p>

_Whispered conversation:_

"I don't want to go back."

"Me either."

* * *

><p>LATER<p>

_Phone conversation:_

"He's back."

"Arthur? Do you know what time it is here?"

"Shut up and listen. _He's back_."

"What? He… as in-"

"_Yes._ I was on a job. PASIV dreaming may be mainly cut off from the rest of the dreaming but it still close enough for me to check. He's back."

"What are we going to do?"

"You're the one who always has the ideas. I handle the details remember?"

"We're going to have to go back."

"What? But-"

"Listen. What the first thing Lucien's going to do now He's back?"

"Carry out a census."

"Right, so long as we're counted we'll be ok. We just have sneak out afterwards."

"Yes but with Him back it won't be as easy as last time."

"Ah but that's the beauty of it. He'll have to deal with the others that left. While he's distracted by them we'll slip out like the thieves we are."

"It's risky."

"Worse case scenario, we'll be stuck in the dreaming. We've had a good run. It won't be too bad"

"Ok. I'll see you there."

* * *

><p>LATER<p>

Cobb looked around the rocky land and was surprised at the number of people there were. He looked down at himself a noticed he was in his pyjamas. There was something wrong about this.

"You're dreaming." There was Arthur, dressed impeccably in a suit and tie as usual. He relaxed. He had been away from dream sharing for a while now he probably should have expected this.

"Where's my totem?" Cobb thought he recognised the woman, an Australian extractor he was sure he had only met once.

"It's a natural dream. They maybe extremely rare when you regularly use a PASIV but they do occasional happen. You probably won't remember it when you wake up."

Cobb watched as the others near him relaxed and realised they were other members of the dream community. He supposed it made sense that they listened to Arthur; he did have a reputation of having all the answers. What a strange dream. There was something about Arthur's face though.

"Eames, why are you crying?"

Cobb turned to see Ariadne.

"It a funeral," Eames answered calmly, "You're supposed to cry at funerals."


End file.
